Speaking of Blood Results

I received an updated, more precise analysis from Ancestry this morning.

It’s all very confusing.

Nigeria — up 4% from last year's analysis
Cameroon — down 2%
England — down a whopping 8%
Mali — down 3%
Benin & Togo — up 1%
Senegal — down 3%

Ivory Coast & Ghana is new/were not included in the last year’s analysis.

Wales and Indigenous Americas remain the same, while Ireland is down 2%.

Germanic Europe’s 1% previously appearing is now gone. 

What happened?

How can Germanic blood be there one year, disappear the next, as has Scotland’s whopping 6% — gone, dissipated.

I’m beginning to think Ancestry is no more an accurate reflection of the elements that make me a person than the medical center’s BMI Index.

One thing though is that, although I’ve always felt I came from another planet, that I’m part alien, the results show I’m 100% from here, planet earth.

The woman who found me on Ancestry, who calls herself my DNA Cousin, and who spent four years on solving our connection — ultimately learning that our great grandfathers were brothers, has ceased communicating because, I’m guessing, she was offended by something I said.

I didn’t mean to offend her but, in her last message, she was telling me more about my father’s side of the family — how this long dead relative didn’t like that one, how that long dead one had been mean and abusive to others.

The more I learned from her, the more I got a feel for small town living during that era and suddenly realized what I’d escaped because my dad left my mom for one of those small minded, jealous, spiteful women and I got to grow up in a more enlightened part of the country.

Unfortunately, I did not simply realize it in my mind, but typed out “I'm beginning to think my father did my mom a favor by leaving her. My father's side of the family appear to have had a lot of issues”.

Mom brought a lot of that old-fashioned limited thinking with her, but being where we were gave me ways and means of going around her, rising above the limitations she tried so hard to place on me. It was a struggle, but something kept pushing me forward until I expanded my awareness and grew.

At any rate, I haven’t heard from DNA Cousin since I said what I said, but oh well.

And now this ….

Yep, that’s right, Khloe has taken over Candy Crush.

I logged on to play and found she’s hosting an All Stars Tournament pitting us crushers, above Level 25, against each other, with the goal of crowning one of us the Nation’s No.1 Crusher, winning a years’ supply of Gold Bars.

At Level 3295, I’m automatically entered into the tournament, whether I want to be or not, but I won’t be competing against anyone but myself — just play a normal game, my normal way.

So far, the only thing I see different is that some of the symbols have been replaced with orange stars.

Also, thus far today, in addition to working out on the smart hula hoop, I put in 5 miles on the indoor bike and caught a new Pokémon.

It’s a good thing I caught it in my unit during daytime hours. because it might have freaked me out a little to see it at night, especially since it started moving directly towards me.

What the heck!! They don’t generally move forward.

Mystery Solved

That was the message I received on Ancestry, first of the month, from a match who contacted me four years ago asking, “How are we related?”

She showed up as a 1st-2nd Cousin 5% shared DNA, has been researching for ten years, and has made discoveries as far back as 1883 — who begat who, where this one and that one is buried.

I had no idea how we were related. Actually could have cared less, because the only reason I’m even on Ancestry was to put my DNA into the system so those sent out into the world at birth, through no fault of their own, can have a pathway to finding where they came from should they go seeking when they become of age.

Over the last four years, I’d occasionally hear from the match — who refers to herself as “Your DNA Cousin” and, for purposes of the blog, I’m calling her Genie — short for Genealogists, asking if I knew this person, that person, who my father was.

I didn’t recognize the names she offered up but, though I'd never met him, I did know my father’s name.

Long time readers might recall my having mentioned the first, last and only time I ever saw my dad was when he was in his coffin.

Mom had tricked me into travelling out of state to attend his funeral and, curious to see what the man looked like before they closed the coffin, I asked the half-sister I’d just discovered I had — who picked me up at the airport (one of his daughters by the woman he’d left my mom for when I was six months old) stop by the funeral home, so I could see his face.

So, yes, I did know his name, gave that information to Genie, also my half-sister’s name, and Genie ran with it.

I think that was about two years ago, that I gave her that info.

First of this month I get a message “DNA Connection Solved … your grandfather and my grandfather are brothers!”

Big Whoop, but if she’s happy and excited at the discovery, I’m happy for her.

How the mystery was solved was that, continuing to expand on contacting DNA matches, she lucked up on someone who possessed this information, actually had a photo of our grandfathers together.

Mine                                Hers

After her long and arduous search of records, reaching out to others, spending four years on my DNA connection to her, this coming across someone who actually had a photo was, in her words “This has been an almost over whelming spiritual experience”.

Bless her heart.

Being more concerned with where I go from here, what comes after this parenthesis in eternity, I could care less about my roots, but I did find some of her discoveries interesting, stories she’d gleaned.

When I told her how my dad had left my mother, she remembered a conversation she’d heard as a child that her father had with his younger brother, who had left his wife and 2 young children and that, in doing this research, she’d discovered it was a pattern with men on my father’s side — they did not have a problem with marrying a wife, leaving her, marrying another wife, leaving her.

Evidently, the men of past generations, on my father’s side, were players.

My mother, when she was exasperated with me, would say I was “stuck up, just like them”.

“Them” being his side of the family.

I was never “stuck up”, just painfully shy, quiet, meditative, closed off, non-reactive, detached (which seemed to drive some people crazy, my being non-reactive and detached) and mom read it as stuck up; but evidently my father’s side of the family was actually stuck up … thought they were better than.

Genie wrote, "The story is that our great grandmother came from a family of very light skinned Blacks and that her family did not like it when she married our great grandfather, who was dark (because their family tradition was to marry ‘light’)".

In today’s vernacular, ancestors on that side would be labelled as “color struck” — prejudiced against those of their race with a dark skin tone. All in all, from what I've learned of my father's side, they’d also be labelled as bourgeois/boujee.

This so-called family tradition would explain why, in the many matches Ancestry tells me are 2nd, 3rd up to 6th cousins, I see extremely light skinned faces and whites — all on my father’s side.

I do wonder how those faces react when they see with whom they are matched.

Are they shocked?

Embarrassed?

Ashamed?

Or are they proud to know they've got a little color in 'em?

So, anyway, it’s been interesting hearing some of the stories Genie has gleaned and seeing old photos she's provided me, but I don’t think I would have liked or been able to get along with those stuck-ups/boogies who came before, my dad included.

Friday the 13th

Fun fact … I got married on a Friday the 13th.

I did not intend to get married that day, didn’t intend on getting married AT ALL, even though the cop I was dating, who later became father of my girls, and I had been together for a while.

How it happened was … he decided at the last minute for us to fly to Vegas to see the Sammy Davis Jr. show and, once in Vegas couldn’t get tickets, the show was sold out.

On a lark, he suggested we get married and, caught up in the moment, I foolishly said okay.

Some guys make great boyfriends, but you wouldn't want to marry them, have to live with them 24/7.

At any rate, we rushed around, bought outfits and did the do, with me thinking well maybe Friday the 13th being a bad luck day, will do the opposite and bring us good luck.

News Flash, it didn’t; but oh well.

Coming back from the Dermatologist on Tuesday, I stopped for gas. While pumping, a guy at an adjacent pump engaged me in conversation, mostly about the fire off in the distance, I was looking at.

He said he had a fire app on his phone and that, when there’d been a really bad fire in that same location three years ago, people living in that area had asked for help on the app. He and some friends had responded to the plea, driven up, helped evacuate some of their animals.

As our conversation ended, he and I drove away, I began thinking … why is it that I normally so easily engage, enjoy listening to the life stories of strangers, but don’t want that security guard to even breathe my way? 

Looking through old photos to email to a woman who found me on Ancestry and is doing root work on the family (more on that later), mystery was solved.

The Ex-Husband

The girls dad was a Handsome devil and, while looking at that old photo, I realized the Security Guard gives me the heebie jeebies because he reminds me of my ex. The resident I refer to in the blog as Handsome Man also reminds me of my ex, which is why he too gets on my nerves at times. Both are tall, dark, good looking, well built, both carry themselves in a dignified manner and give off that arrogant self-assured vibe that so annoys me.

So, there you have it.

Heebie Jeebies mystery solved.

My attitude towards the two is a case of Once Bitten.

Doesn't mean that every guy who reminds me of my ex is an undercover psycho, who lures women in with their good looks and charming dignified demeanor but, if the vibe is felt, doesn't mean they are not.

And while we’re on the subject of devils — this one not tall, not dark, certainly not good looking or carrying himself in a dignified manner, but most assuredly giving off that arrogant self-assured vibe … the Tyrant has sought fit to bestow a movie on the seniors this evening — A Quiet Place is to be shown in the Clubhouse at 2:30, and this time the Tyrant made sure to indicate RSVP.

I’ve not seen A Quiet Place, but I know it’s hours of no talking by characters in the movie because, if you make a sound, it will attract a monster.

I do enjoy a good horror, but that kind of suspense stresses me out.

I’m hoping to run into Church Lady, so I can ask if she’s planning to attend this afternoon. When my buddy Apache was in charge of Movie Night, Church Lady was so over the top appalled at his showing Halle Berry/Billy Bob Thornton’s Monsters Ball to the seniors, because of the "nasty" sex scenes. She disapproves of movies with “bad words”, movies with blood, so I’m curious to see what about A Quiet Place, a movie filled with silence and monsters, will offend her sensitive nature.

Will be interesting if any of the residents respond to the Tyrant’s movie night at all, but not interesting enough for me to go down and check it out.

Happy Saint Patrick’s Day

Since the recent DNA test shows 9% Scandinavian, instead of the Irish I’d been led to believe, I’m not as excited about this day of green bagels and green beer as I've been in the past.

We’re having an ice cream sundae social this afternoon, which I should probably skip, but inasmuch as I’ve been eating healthy, yet having stomach troubles every single day this week anyway, I figure what the heck … a sundae can’t make it any worse than it already is.

At least I hope not.

I got a kick out of a little birdie saying I should attend yesterday’s meeting and report back because inquiring minds want to know.

I did attend and, planning to stay detached from the proceedings, not get involved in the fray, took a Woman’s Day crossword puzzle to work on if I found myself rising to the madness.

I did work the puzzle, it did distract, but the meeting was quite civilized. No one complained about the high cable bills. The Community Room television came up, the outcome being we will have service again soon.

The big deal tax credit inspection turned up areas of erosion caused by the heavy rains. Consequently, there is to be another big deal inspection next year to ensure repairs are made and no other issues have come up.

Another highlight is that something the seniors have been asking to have reinstated since Nurse Ratched took it away has finally been approved -- a Bazaar/Rummage Sale.

I don’t imagine it will be a huge moneymaker like in the past, when it was publicized in the newspaper and people came from all over. It will just be us, so not worth my trying to sell items I’ve recently set aside for donation.

The new Community Manager’s not lying to us, working with us rather than against us, as Nurse Ratched did in coming up with creative reasons why everything had to be “no”, is probably why the meeting was so copacetic.

So, if the meeting was so civilized, so copacetic, why was I distracting myself working on a crossword puzzle you ask? Well that’s because two of the seniors were annoying. The two just babbled on and on and on about things that did not matter, even complaining about things they didn’t realize had long since been resolved. So, to keep from becoming irked out of my detachment and screaming, I worked on the puzzle during those times they needlessly babbled on.

The two are known for putting on a performance, making their opinions heard about how things should be done, and you should see their body movements while doing so -- shoulders strutting, looking very pleased with themselves; but it’s all smoke and mirrors, just a whole lot of complaining just to be complaining.

For instance, it was particularly irksome when the two -- next door neighbor and the other woman, let’s call her Loud Mouth, began complaining about the lack of activities.

True, we do have few BUT next door neighbor rarely attends the few we do have and Loud Mouth never ever attends. So it bothered me those two, of all people, were the ones to complain so long and so loudly about the lack of activities.

To top it off, the Community Manager, and not for the first time, suggested we do not have to rely on the Activity Director, who spreads her time between seven other senior communities. That we can establish our own Activity Committee.

Loud Mouth was all for it, interjecting it’s what we originally had before Nurse Ratched brought Activity Directors on board, and that she (Loud Mouth) had been on the committee. Next Door Neighbor was also in agreement, as it’s something she’s been suggesting for a while.

Actually, the whole room became electric at the idea. BUT, when the Community Manager asked for volunteers, saying she would set up a date for them to have lunch with her and work out a plan, Loud Mouth and next door neighbor suddenly became silent.

It was very telling that all you heard was dead silence in the room which had been so electric with excitement second earlier.

People complaining just to be complaining, not wanting to get involved in resolution.

Speaking of volunteers, I sat with The Baker who said the woman who took my place at Pizza Tuesday was “not happy at having to do it”. That delivery didn’t happen until 11:00 and that everyone “just wooshed in”.

“Do you think she’ll do it again?” asked I.

“I don’t think so”.

Oh well.

Idle Hands

Popping up on my facebook page Wednesday -- two days after the holiday, the following sign was just too hilarious not to share.

Having suffered no after effects from Pizza Tuesday, it’s been business as normal, except no needlepoint as I wait for the aida cloth to arrive.

Apart from when I’m sitting in meditation, I become restless when I’m not doing something with my hands, so I've been getting back into ancestry to while away the time.

I signed up late last year and quickly lost interest after learning:

1)      In addition to Nigerian, Mali, Senegal and Congo, my Native Indian heritage is much lower than I was led to believe (only 2%).

2)     Also, contrary to family belief of Irish blood, there is 0% chance of that, BUT

3)     There’s 9% Scandinavian.

Inasmuch as my body has no tolerance for cold weather, I found THAT hard to believe, questioned accuracy of the test, and was done – even though Apache informed me only one eighteenth is necessary to qualify for Native American benefits.

Records are required to verify that lineage and, other than a photo shown to me the one time I came in contact with anyone from my father's side, even him -- at his funeral, of their Black Great Grandfather standing besides their Choctaw Cherokee Great Grandmother, that’s all the info I have, and had no interest in delving further into it.

So, after the initial thrill of the results, I was done with the site until, with nothing else to do, I logged in the other afternoon and saw a match had reached out to ask how we’re connected -- it’s from the father’s side, but difficult to pinpoint precisely who.

From there, just to keep myself busy, I've been giving tree building a try, found a population schedule listing my mom at 12 years of age, but building a tree is complicated, frustrating, and has the potential of becoming expensive – with monthly charges for access to this, monthly charges for access to that. So I think I’m over this ancestry thing and will just quietly sit here, catching up on recorded television programs, occasionally looking out the patio window, watching grass grow.

Into the Wild

Car started up right away yesterday, no cranking sound.

According to the manual, the car is equipped with “Battery Rundown Protection”, which means that when lights are left on, the system will automatically turn the lamp off after 20 minutes. So knowing the car did not sit for two days, lights on, draining the battery, I stopped worrying about getting to the dealer and will take my chances on making it to the next regular service.

Yesterday did dry up outside and was off/on fairly nice, but a little chilly when I made it out. So, instead of walking around the University, I drove to the PokéStops I depended upon before discovering the University. One such stop displayed a hilarious sign.

After this morning’s rituals (BBB, except I skipped the biking because I was going to need that energy elsewhere), I headed down into the wilderness the Community Room becomes on Pizza Day, arriving early at 9:45 for the 10:00 delivery.

Expecting feeding time at the zoo -- crazed wild beasts ready to attack, grab as soon as pizzas came through the door, I was met by only two residents – one of which was the guy who’d had a pizza snatched from his hands.

After telling him I was happy he was giving it a second chance, I began wondering -- did I scare everyone off last week?

Turns out not. Taking a cue from last week's late delivery, residents began trickling in around 10:30 -- minutes after the Activity Director herself delivered the pizzas.

She’d rearranged her schedule to handle the pickup/delivery because she’d heard so much from management and residents about the chaos that she wanted to “see it for myself”; plus she wanted the delivery to be on time.

Of course, this would be the day residents weren't already seated, at the ready, so Activity Director saw none of the behaviors she’d been advised of happening last week, the week before that, the week before that.

At any rate, as soon as she’d made the delivery and took off, here they came. But it was nice this time.

Pizzas, bread sticks, chicken were already on the table, there wasn't a mass of residents converging on the tables at one time so, after signing in, folks leisurely picked out what they wanted.

I didn’t even have to use my 1 Per Person labels.

Those who wanted one or two or three, saying they were picking up for someone else who supposedly could not come down, I asked they sign in FOR that person (name and unit number).

No one had a problem with it.

This morning was easy peasy … fun even.

The idea of Pizza Day had me craving since last week. So yesterday, following an almond meal crust recipe found in a Wheat Belly Cookbook, I sauced the crust with tomato puree, added a topping of roasted mushrooms, onions, cherry tomatoes, jalapeno, turkey pepperoni, and cane up with a pizza my sensitive stomach wouldn’t rebel at.

Satisfying and delicious it was.

Tasted even better when, at 12:15, I signed off wilderness duty, went back to my unit and reheated a slice for lunch.

On tap for remainder of the day?

Well, since there will be no needlepoint until I receive the aida in the mail, I'll take a little indoor bike ride, then work on my Ancestry tree.

I have to always be doing something, and I was so excited last night when I found a population schedule listing my mom when she was 12 years old. I've also heard from someone who thinks she might be a niece on my father's side -- the side I know little about.